The Broadcast of Betrayal

The morning light seeped through the cracks in the grimy blinds of the rundown motel room. Scarlett leaned against the sink; her reflection fractured in the cracked mirror. The events of the night before still played in her mind: the roar of gunfire, the screeching tires, and the satisfying thud of their pursuer's truck veering off the road after her precise shot.

Behind her, Nathan gasped as Margot applied antiseptic to the graze on his arm. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the faint smell of mildew, a reminder of how close they had come to losing everything.

"You should've let me take the wheel sooner," Margot muttered. "That stunt nearly got us all killed."

Nathan smirked despite the sting. "You're welcome for not flipping the truck."

"Funny, West. Real funny," Margot shot back, rolling her eyes.